


It’s My Life/Confessions Part II

by gelandspray



Series: Lay It All Down [24]
Category: Glee
Genre: (Past) Suicidal Ideation, AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, Trans, Trans Character, Transgender, Transphobia, mentions of dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:26:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5355785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelandspray/pseuds/gelandspray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt finds his first day of therapy harder than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s My Life/Confessions Part II

**Author's Note:**

> _So_ sorry for the long wait! I moved countries/continents and then started my new job and then started working on applications for graduate school, so I got really behind on updating this. But my next applications aren’t due for a month and I’m too panicky about the last ones to contemplating doing the next ones, so I have time to write other stuff. Also, for any of you who are happy to see this update, you have a nice anon on tumblr and Axelle to thank for kindly and thoughtfully reminding me that it’s been awhile.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: (Past) Suicidal Ideation, Transphobia, and (Slight) Dysphoria

After New Year’s, Kurt talked to Blaine some more and Unique and, of course, Burt and he ultimately ended up deciding to at least give the NYADA counselors a try, which is good because he _somehow_ agreed to help plan Santana and Brittany’s weeding which they want to have _in the Spring_ , which gives him only a few months to plan a wedding while fielding Santana’s digs and quips _and_ Brittany’s hare-brained plans that are even wackier than his high school obsession with glitter-pooping doves. So, Kurt walked into his first appointment with his assigned counselor hoping that she wouldn’t take too much convincing and he might get some stress relief out of talking about his wedding planning woes.

He just didn’t realize how mentally taxing therapy itself would actually be. 

“So, Kurt, why did you decide to come here today?” his counselor, Lena, asks after quickly flicking through the paperwork, he’d had to fill out in the waiting room. She seems fairly young, which could go one of two ways. She sits very primly in her seat, with good posture and with her legs crossed carefully, has her long brown hair tightly tied back in a ponytail, and her glasses are perched exactly where they should be. For all intents and purposes, she seems put together and extremely normal and Kurt isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“Honestly,” he begins, while giving himself credit for not pointing out that it says exactly why he’s here on the piece of paper she’s currently looking at, “I came here because I have to. I can look at the bright side, because, again, I also have to, but that’s pretty much it plain and simple. I am trans and I’m not allowed to medically transition until some therapist says so. So, here I am.”

Kurt can see the surprise and curiosity in her eyes and he can hear the fascination in her tone as she says, “Do you mind if I ask some questions?”

Kurt is pretty sure there is nothing he wants less than to answer more generic and likely transphobic questions, but he knows he doesn’t have much of a choice, so he says, “Sure.”

“Can you tell me what you mean when you say you’re transgender?”

Kurt gives himself even more credit for withholding the groan that begs to break free in response. Instead, Kurt says what he’d planned to say when he thought about what he was and wasn’t willing to disclose at the first appointment.

“I was assigned female at birth, which means the doctor looked at me when I was born and said ‘it’s a girl!’ and it turns out he was wrong, because I have breasts and a vagina but I’m not a girl. I want to do hormone therapy and have surgery – not _‘the’_ surgery, because that doesn’t exist, but _a_ surgery, namely top surgery to remove my breasts. I’ve lived full time as a boy for _years_. My dad knows, my best friend knows, and my boyfriend knows. They all know I’m gay because I’m a guy who loves guys. That’s it.”

“Okay,” she says after she takes some notes. “Do you have any other mental disorders that you know of?”

“Does it matter?” Kurt counters, bristling at both the implication and the directness of her question.

“You’re in therapy, Kurt. I think it makes sense to know what all you’re dealing with. Besides, I wouldn’t ask you these questions if they weren’t important. I promise I know what I’m doing,” she says eyeing him seriously and almost-sort-of pointing at him with her pen. 

At this point, Kurt starts to think that his counselor sounds/acts like what he thinks Rachel would sound/act like if she were asked to do improv and portray a therapist. This does not bode well. He doesn’t need a counselor who thinks she’s the greatest gift the field of psychology has ever been given.

“I’ve never been in therapy before, so I’ve never been diagnosed with anything,” he states plainly.

“Well, okay, then now is the time to think about these things. For example, have you ever experienced any anxiety attacks, panic attacks, the urge to self-harm, or thoughts of suicide?”

“Not really.”

“Not really?” she repeats skeptically, quickly moving to write on her notepad again, which, frankly, is getting really annoying.

“That’s what I said.”

The counselor only hums.

“What?”

“I’m just not certain you’re being honest with me. ‘Not really’ would imply that you have experienced one of more of these things, but you’re not sharing those things with me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to go easy on me for the first session?” Kurt counters. “Is this supposed to make me feel like you’re a safe space? A neutral party? A good listener?”

“Am I wrong?” she asks and Kurt can see from her expression that she knows she’s caught him.

“Well, excuse me if it’s sort of hard to actually tell you things because, for some reason, you have this power to decide if and when I’m ready to do something to _my_ body. Excuse me if I feel like I have to be perfect just to convince you to give me permission to _know myself best_.” 

“ _Kurt,_ ” she emphasizes, leaning forward as she puts down her pen and making direct and unavoidable eye contact, “I don’t expect you to be perfect, but I do expect you to be _honest_. I will find it hard to trust you and especially to trust you with any major decisions if it doesn’t feel like I know you and know you’re being honest.”

Kurt considers arguing that he shouldn’t _have to_ convince her that he’s trustworthy, but he figures that it probably won’t get him very far. So, he just sighs deeply and prepares himself to disclose more than he had hoped to.

“Fine. When I was in highs school, I thought about suicide. I felt invisible; I had no friends; I didn’t fit in; and I felt ashamed that I wasn’t the happy child my mom – who died when I was a kid – remembered me as. But I never made a plan and I never tried anything. I picked up a pamphlet that my guidance counselor made, she caught me, my dad told me to join a club and, as they say, _it got better_. Happy?”

“In a way, yes, because you were honest with me. Was that the only time when you had these kinds of thoughts?”

“I was bullied fairly consistently later on and felt excluded by the guys in the glee club. I didn’t feel like I was being treated like one of the guys and I was being bullied a lot for being so obviously gay and so obviously different. I didn’t feel safe in school and I was terrified every time I saw a football jersey out of the corner of my eye. I was constantly bracing myself. But, eventually, my main bully left school. It might have taken me being misgendered in public, at prom – although almost no one knew – before it happened, but he left school and I got over it.”

“You said that you’ve never been to therapy. No therapy after your mom died. No therapy after you were bullied. No therapy when your dad found out you were having suicidal thoughts. Have you always just had to ‘get over’ things on your own?”

“There have been people who have tried to help, but nothing much happened. No one could get the bully kicked out of school and nothing they said made it easier – just like nothing made it easier when my dad was in a coma.”

“Can you tell me about that?”

It goes back and forth like this for what feels like _ages_. He feels like he’s shallowly talked about dozens of topics, grazing the surface just enough to remember the pain but not enough to actually get any catharsis. He doesn’t get to hide from any of it. He doesn’t get to hide from missing his mom. He doesn’t get to hide from the pain from being bullied. He doesn’t get to hide from the pain of feeling stuck, hating his breasts, and wanting to look like an adult man. To his immense embarrassment, he cries, tears running down his face, which he quickly wipes away but they just keep coming and he can feel his face getting raw from wiping and wiping, but he has to keep talking until she tells him his time is up and then, after he finds himself agreeing to another appointment and setting a time, he walks out of her office with an appointment card gripped tightly in his hand.  

Kurt lets out a deep sigh as he pushes open the door and exits the main NYADA campus building. Sliding sunglasses on his face, Kurt ducks his head, nervously tries to blindly fix his hair, and hopes that no one noticed his blotchy sink and red-rimmed eyes. He tries to steady his hands as he shakily unzips his bag and sifts through the contents to find his phone.

He doesn’t hesitate to dial the phone number of the person he _really, really needs to see._

“Hey, baby!” Blaine’s excited voice declares.

“Hey, Blaine,” Kurt chokes out, his throat raw.

“Kurt? What’s going on?”

Kurt ignores his question for now, lest he breakdown on the NYADA front steps. “Are you at your apartment?” he asks instead.

“Yeah. Kurt–“

“Are you busy?”

“No. Kurt? What–?”

“Can I come over?”

“Of course! Kurt, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just need to see you. I’ll be at your place soon-ish,” Kurt says in what he hopes is a stern tone that leaves no opportunity for further questions.

He’s glad to know that he’s been successful, when Blaine simply says, “I’ll be waiting. Be careful, please.”

With that, Kurt slips his earbuds into his ears and tries to push away his emotions until he’s no longer in public by powerwalking his way to the subway and then up to Blaine’s apartment to the rhythm of the music in his ears.

By the time he’s reached Blaine’s front door, he thinks he’s pretty much sorted himself out again, only to see the concern in Blaine’s ultra-expressive eyes. He feels the tears rush back and the uncomfortable tight feeling return to his throat and throws himself into Blaine’s arms, tucking his face into Blaine’s neck and breathing in the combined smell of Blaine’s cologne and his raspberry-scented hair gel. His sunglasses get roughly shoved crooked on his face but he doesn’t care. Kurt can also feel a tear trickle down to the tip of his nose and drip onto Blaine’s skin, which is the exact moment when Blaine jerks back and carefully pushes Kurt’s sunglasses up to perch them on top of his head. Kurt looks away in embarrassment, but he can _feel_ the way Blaine notices his teary, red-rimmed eyes, his blotchy cheeks, and his red nose. He almost can’t bear to look at Blaine as he notes all of the signs of Kurt’s emotional breakdown, but, when he finally looks up, Kurt just sees those eyes again.

Once again, he sees the pure love and compassion that is always there, always part of Blaine. Once again, he just needs to touch Blaine, to be with him, to feel Blaine hold him, to feel Blaine consume him.

With that, he tucks himself back against his boyfriend’s body and returns to Blaine’s neck, though this time with rough kisses. Blaine’s neck isn’t as sensitive as Kurt’s is, but Kurt can feel Blaine’s blood start to pound as he pays special attention to his pulse point. He slides his hands around Blaine’s waist, feeling along Blaine’s back, taking handfuls of Blaine’s shirt and tugging it out from where it was tucked into Blaine’s tight, brightly colored pants.  

“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine gasps, moving leaning away and taking Kurt’s face in his hands. “Kurt, you’re really worrying me.”

“Later,” Kurt breathes. “Can we just talk about it later? I promise I’ll tell you everything, but I just need you right now. _Please_.”

“You promise you’re okay?” Blaine presses, running his thumb over the line of Kurt’s cheekbone.

“I promise I’m okay. We can stop if you really want to, but there’s plenty of time for talking later.”

Blaine nods, guiding their lips together, but he keeps their kissing leisurely and gentle. Blaine slowly removes Kurt’s sunglasses, untangling them from Kurt’s hair carefully and placing them on the table by the door usually dedicated only to the bowl for the keys. He removes Kurt’s jacket just as carefully, slipping the fabric off of Kurt’s shoulders and down Kurt’s arms. Kurt feels the breath catch in his throat when Blaine steps back again to hang Kurt’s coat on a coatrack by the door, but this time the tightness in his throat isn’t soured by feelings and thoughts Kurt would rather hide away, but by the love and awe he feels for the man in front of him.

Kurt lets Blaine lead him back to his bedroom, but, once they get there and the bedroom door is safely closed and locked behind them, Kurt determinedly returns to his mission of undressing his boyfriend. As Blaine begins to unbutton Kurt’s shirt, he starts with Blaine’s. Kurt’s shirt hits the floor, then Blaine’s. Kurt’s shoes, Blaine’s shoes, Kurt’s socks, Blaine’s socks; clothes continue to fall to the floor in pairs – even Kurt’s binder drops to the floor accompanied by Blaine’s undershirt – until they are both finally, _finally_ naked.

Kurt lightly pushes Blaine back to sit on the bed and kneels to straddle Blaine’s lap. He shivers at the combination of the slightly chilly room and the feeling of Blaine’s hands lightly trailing across various parts of his body: the left hand trails Kurt’s side from the side of Kurt’s ass, across the dips and rises of his ribs, to the side of his breast, while the right hand slides down his stomach, fingers teasing at his clit before two slip down between his labia and twist to curve into Kurt’s opening.

To Kurt, it seems like he can feel every goosebump and raised hair. He knows it’s just from the cold and the arousal but he entertains for a moment that it seems like every part of him is reaching out for Blaine, for his body heat and his touch.

Placing one arm around Blaine’s shoulders to brace himself, he wraps his other hand around Blaine’s shaft. He traces he ridges and veins with his fingers and feels the slide and smear of the precum with his thumb. When Blaine groans and bucks into his hand, Kurt does what he knows Blaine wants him to. He tightens his hand and begins stroking rhythmically. Blaine rewards him by adding another finger and pressing his thumb more firmly against his clit, but, even so, Kurt bucks his hips seeking something _more_.

“Hold on, babe,” Blaine groans, reluctantly leaning all the way back, stretching himself as far as he can to reach the bedside table and fish out a condom, fumbling and grumbling as, Kurt assumes, one slips through his fingers. Kurt knows it might help if he gave Blaine the chance to focus on the task at hand, but, nevertheless, Kurt continues his ministrations, taking some pleasure in Blaine’s fluster.  

Finally, Blaine secures a condom and, with what is now a practiced ease, rolls it on. When Blaine, indulgently giving himself a few firm strokes, looks content to continue lying back, Kurt decides to encourage him back up, dancing his free hand up Blaine’s arm to his elbow and giving a light tug.

“I want you close,” he explains.

“Okay,” Blaine agrees, breathily, sitting up and settling his hands on Kurt’s waist.

With Blaine’s strong, stable hands holding him, Kurt moves to position himself over Blaine’s length, which he keeps steady with a careful, but firm hold. Finally, just before he sinks down, Kurt catches Blaine’s lips in an ardent kiss. He feels Blaine’s breath catch and his hands clench as Kurt moves farther and farther down, feeling fuller and fuller. Kurt pushes through though, continuing to kiss Blaine’s slightly slack mouth until his ass meets Blaine’s lap again and Blaine’s brain seems to kick back on and he returns the kiss just as passionately as Kurt is giving.

Kurt begins to move, relishing the pull and drag, pushing down and in and then up and out, teasing at pulling all the way off, but always catching at the exact right time to make sure that they never disconnect. This slow pace contrasts with their rough and dirty kisses until Kurt can’t go on with Blaine’s hands just on his waist.

“Hold me,” he groans. “ _Please,_ Blaine, hold me.”

This inspires Blaine to pull his lips away before quickly reattaching them to Kurt’s neck, roughly sucking what Kurt knows will be a hickey, but he doesn’t care. Kurt dreads the day when he has to give up hickeys, because they always feel so good when he gets them and they continue to feel good as he looks at them later, seeing in the mirror proof that he gets to have a life like this, a life full of love and passion and _Blaine_ , who is also tightly wrapping his arms around Kurt’s body and making Kurt feel as wrapped up in his body as he does in Blaine’s love. Kurt continues his slow pace, even with Blaine constraining his movement, reducing him to tilts and swivels of his hips instead of thrusts, until Blaine sharply jerks his hips up and Kurt can’t hold back the yelp.

He also feels another command bubble past his lips: “Take me.”

With that, Blaine crushes Kurt against him and rolls them over. Once Kurt is on his back, he bends his knees, plants his feet flat against the bed, and squeezes his arms as tightly as he can around Blaine’s shoulders, feeling Blaine’s skin between his splayed fingers. When Blaine restarts on Kurt’s neck and begins to move his hips quickly and roughly, Kurt just _lets go_. He can feel the slam of Blaine’s hips against his skin and can’t bother to think much about the ripple effect that makes his body fat or body parts jiggle or the ridiculousness of his “ _oh, yes!_ ” and _“don’t stop!”_ and _“harder!”_ and _“so good to me.”_

Occasionally, between sloppy kisses to his neck, Kurt can both feel the vibration and hear the sound of Blaine groaning, “I love you _so much_.” It’s during one of those times – when Blaine also has one hand somehow squished between their bodies, playing at Kurt’s clit – that Kurt feels everything come together and his orgasm crashes over him. Blaine continues to thrusts back and forth as Kurt rides the wave. During his tingly afterglow, Blaine pounds into him a few more times before coming and collapsing on top of him for only moment and then turning over and pulling out, moving quickly to clean up. Kurt doesn’t move, simply feeling satisfied with watching his naked boyfriend move around the room, until Blaine returns to his side, drawing a blanket over the both of them and pulling Kurt to lie against his chest.

They let silence trickle in as their breathing calms and returns to normal, but Kurt can feel that Blaine won’t let that last very much longer. 

“I’m not complaining, but…” Blaine begins, ”Kurt, please tell me what’s going on.”

Kurt tightens his arm around Blaine, rests his cheek against Blaine’s chest, and feels the early stubble from last time Blaine waxed rub against his face as he confesses, “I went to therapy for the first time today.”

“Oh, yeah? Why didn’t you tell me you were going today?” Blaine asks curiously, his hand stroking Kurt’s arm carefully.

“I don’t know,” Kurt admits, wishing he could have had more time to switch from hot-sex-and-orgasm mode to serious-hard-feelings-and-confessions mode, but he _did_ promise. “I guess, maybe, I just didn’t want it to be some big deal.”

“Okay, yeah, I can understand that,” Blaine concedes. “It seems like it _was_ kind of a big deal though.”

“It was,” Kurt agrees. Another silence sets in and Kurt feels pressured to share some deep, hidden part of himself and it reminds him a little of the therapy session he was just in. But he remembers that this is _Blaine_. This isn’t some woman he has to convince of his gender or his _sanity_. This isn’t a professional intrigued by a new aspect of her profession that she doesn’t understand. This is his boyfriend hoping ardently that Kurt will give a little and provide Blaine with a glimpse into the deeper, more hidden places of his being. “I just…I had to talk about all these things I didn’t want to talk about. I had this little bit of hope in the back of my mind that I would walk in and she would be the perfect, socially aware counselor, who would offer to write my letter on the spot because she knows it’s _bullshit_ that I need it. Rationally, I knew it wouldn’t happen but I held onto this piece of hope. Then I went to the appointment and my hope was _crushed_. She not only didn’t offer me my letter, but she obviously sees being transgender as a form of mental illness in one way or another. I mean, I told her I was trans and she actually asked me if I had any _‘other mental disorders.’_ ”

Even though Kurt knows it comes from a good place, when Blaine says, “I’m sorry, Kurt,” he just scoffs. 

“No, I really am sorry, Kurt.” Blaine insists, moving so he can look Kurt in the eye. “I really respect you though.”

“Please, don’t tell me about how _‘brave’_ I am. I’ve had enough casual cissexist other-ing for one day.”

“That’s not what I mean. Not really. I mean that I think I probably should have been in therapy after that Sadie Hawkins dance nightmare, but my parents never offered and I never thought much about asking them. I had nights when I woke up with fragments of confused, blurred, but undeniably _violent_ images in my head, soaked in sweat, heart pounding. I was afraid to walk home late at night by myself or even with one of my Dalton friends, just in case someone would think that we were together. I don’t really know how I got past it. Honestly, I probably just forced myself to because I thought Sebastian would make fun of me or get sick of me if I couldn’t walk home hand-in-hand with him on a night out. I just told myself: ‘ _courage’_ and I guess it worked. The first time he thought it was my ‘bashful schoolboy thing’ that made my hand sweat and shake. I didn’t correct him,” Blaine confesses, his voice sounding weirdly distant, disconnected.

“Blaine-“

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I kind of know what it’s like to want to push stuff away and not deal with it. Getting help is hard. You don’t get much of a choice about whether you want to do that hard work, but you’re doing it and no matter what this woman ends up saying, you will have done your best and given it your everything and I’m proud of you. I hope you get everything you want. I hope you get a letter from her and then you can tell her exactly what you think of her and the things she says to you. No matter what, though, I hope you’re proud of yourself for everything you do, therapy included. I hope you never feel like you have to hide how hard it is from me. You know I’m always here for you right?”

“I do,” Kurt assures him, craning his neck uncomfortably to reach Blaine’s lips and give him a deep, heartfelt kiss. “Sweetheart, if you have a nightmare, wake me up and I’ll cuddle you back to sleep. If some nights you don’t feel comfortable holding my hand, we don’t have to and…Even though I know that I just complained about my counselor, I don’t want you to think that therapy is terrible or that you should avoid it. If you want to go to therapy, I can support you too.”

Kurt thinks that he’s probably giving Blaine a similar version of the look Blaine gave him when he first showed up at his door. He also wonders if the vulnerable look on Blaine’s face was the same one he had. Hopefully, Blaine feels the same relief Kurt feels when his boyfriend says, “I’ll think about it, okay?” Moving to lace their fingers together, Blaine adds, "But I don't think there will ever be a time when I _don't_ want to hold your hand."

“I love you a lot,” Kurt vows.

“I love you a lot, too," Blaine responds. _"Always."_

With that, they lapse back into silence, which gives Kurt’s mind to come up with what he, in his humble opinion, thinks is a great idea.

“Blaine?” Kurt almost-whispers.

“Yeah?” Blaine yawns, which makes Kurt realize that his boyfriend might have been adorably close to taking a little late afternoon, post-sex nap.

“Are you always free on Wednesday afternoons?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Can you maybe meet me at NYADA after my appointments?” Kurt suggests hopefully and earnestly. “It would really help if I could see your smiling face after I’ve scraped myself raw. Your crazy triangle eyebrows seem to have miraculous healing powers.”

“My crazy eyebrows?” Blaine questions teasingly, quirking said eyebrows cutely. “It doesn’t seem like you were just after my eyebrows earlier.” 

Kurt laughs, “That’s true. Let that be extra incentive.”

“I don’t need any extra incentive to be around you, babe. I’ll be there every week waiting eagerly to see you sex or no…although I definitely won’t turn down sex,” Blaine whispers against Kurt’s skin before pressing a series of reverent kisses to Kurt’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: the grad schools I’m applying to are for Counseling/Clinical Psychology and, in my applications, I made it clear that my interest in becoming a psychologist is to better serve trans folks and give trans people more opportunities to see therapists and not have to teach them about what transgender means and so on and so forth.


End file.
